The Shards Of Fate
My hands trembled as I reached out to touch him, uncertain if it was the final time he would hold me in his arms.
By Taylor Hanan
Can you check what track that was?
Autumn had robbed us of our endless daylight, and golden hour had come too soon – The contours of succulents stained the nicotine white walls; shadows loomed languidly and fatigued.
L had retired to the divan, the day’s treasures stacked neatly by his side. He flipped to the middle of his magazine, squinting as he held it inches from his face, while I wandered over to his record player — a ghost in our home together.
I was feigning a sense of normalcy, aware that the past night’s words were indelible on my mind. I love you, I love you, I love you, I had felt, as the chasm between us irreversibly broadened. He spoke steadily, yet each phrase became untranslatable as reality crystallized before me. My hearing began to fail – I was blinded by wretchedness; distraught by design. It would be easy for me to leave, I thought, because all of my belongings have been neatly folded into removable storage units. My hands trembled as I reached out to touch him, uncertain if it was the final time he would hold me in his arms.
He had agreed to rethink his decision, but the devastation was irrevocable. Today, we tried again – I bought a frail bamboo plant for our window, but I had already managed to knock it over and flood his laminated floors. We visited our favorite breakfast cafe, but I was unable to eat without anxiety germinating in the pit of my belly. Despair was in full bloom, and each flower encouraged brooding over his imminent departure. Cigarette carcasses decayed in the ashtray outside of the window, and I recalled the billowing smoke through my tears. In a way, he had passed on – and I was to mourn until our love resurrected itself.
By the time I counted the grooves of the record, the chestnut rings of a weeping willow, twilight had faded to a grey evening, and he had forgotten of his request. I miss you, I stated, careful to not reference our fight.
I’m here, he smiled, playing his part in the facade. Shards of hurt pierced my bosom – I could not accept that the passage of time was the sole determinant of our fate.
I thought of the tedium regime I had fallen into, my lack of ambition, and the overall happiness I had placed into our relationship. I wondered how his four walls had grown to define the entirety of my existence. What is the point of anything at all? I had nothing, except for my devotion, to live for. 
